I sat in a church today. On my walk, I came upon a Baptist Church built in the mid-1800's. Outside, there was a sign that said, "Church open for prayer and meditation."
I wasn't dressed "church-appropriate" by any means, but my version of God would appreciate how I look in skinny jeans and a tube top, so in I went. As I entered the sanctuary, I was struck by the high ceilings, the smell of wood and the beautiful stained glass. And the organ music. Wonder and awe ran through my body as my senses were overwhelmed by sight and sound.
There was no one else there so I had my pick of the pews. I sat in the middle of the church, to the left, paying secret homage to the fact that in Latin, "left" means sinister. I listened to the music and wondered where the loudspeakers were. I figured they had the music on loop.
I closed my eyes and let the music pulse through me. I disappeared into the notes and the silence between them. When I finally came to, I noticed that off to the far right there was a mirror reflecting back into the room. And then, I saw a face in the mirror and realized that he was the one playing the organ. And I wondered how often he played for no one but himself and his God. And I couldn't help but feel connected to this man, alone in his creation and his expression, deriving his joy from the unseen.
As I looked at the Bibles lining the pew in front of me, I realized that there was nothing in those words that could ever be as holy as this man and I sharing this moment of music and silence. When he finished playing, he got up and turned to leave. I let out an audible, "Thank You" that echoed through the room. He didn't turn around but literally disappeared into the woodwork at the back of the church. But I hope he was smiling. I was.